


The East Wind is Come

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Series: The Sherlock Switcheroos [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Bittersweet Ending, By Spoilers I Mean that This Is That Episode Only with a Slightly Different Ending, Death by Drowning, Gen, Heavy Angst, Horror, Lots of Death and it's Meant to Hurt, M/M, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Sherlock Dialog and Scenes Spoken by Star Wars Characters, Spoliers for Sherlock Season 4 Episode 3: The Final Problem, Suicide, blasters, falling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 16:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Anakin in the role of Sherlock. Obi-Wan, that of Watson. Mace, that of Mycroft. The insane creature hunting them? Hm.





	The East Wind is Come

**Author's Note:**

> This story is simple self-indulgence. I was watching the episode, and much as I love John Watson + Sherlock angst, I really needed it to be Obi-Wan and Anakin when [redacted] was put under [redacted] and [redacted] [redacted] [redacted]. In other words, torment and truly spectacular amounts of violence.
> 
> Warning:  
> This story contains extensive spoilers for the Sherlock finale. If you're at all interested in that TV show and haven't seen it yet, beware of this story. Trust me, you want to experience that twist within the episode itself, whether you end up liking it or not.
> 
> If, after that warning you've still decided to read this without having seen the Sherlock episode, just keep in mind that the end-game romance I portray here isn't actually the canon Sherlock pairing. So don't end up confused and disbelieving when you watched the episode, wondering how in hell's name that ended up being the choice, when it has about as much sense as [redacted] and Rose in Last Jedi. Mef.
> 
> On a lighter note, this switchover happened very naturally in my brain. The only difficult part was trying to figure out who should play Anakin's terrifying tormentor.

 

“Is this supposed to be a _game_?” Mace mocked.

Anakin leveled him a stern glance. “Be quiet.”

_“Somebody, please help me,”_ a little girl's voice cried over the comm.

“Hello,” Anakin soothed. “Try to stay calm. Just tell me what your name is.”

_“I'm not supposed to tell my name to strangers,”_ the little one sniffled back.

“Of course not. Very good. But I'll tell you mine. My name is—”

Static interrupted him, and Obi-Wan felt his heart sink.

“Hello?” Anakin asked.

And then the screen just outside their cell cleared, revealing a smiling Padmé. “Oh, dear. We seem to have lost the connection.”

“How have you done this?” Mace demanded. “How is any of this possible?”

“You put me in here, Mace. You brought me my treats.”

The horrified expression that stole Mace's face triggered every warning flag Obi-Wan possessed.

“What treats?” he asked, but Mace did not answer. He simply swallowed, looking...

_Afraid. He looks afraid._

The lights turned red with a sinister click, and the screen filled with Palpatine's face. “ _Clever_ Padmé,” he growled. “You go, girl!”

As the lights switched to their normal white again, Obi-Wan turned to Anakin. “ _How_ can that be Palpatine?”

“Oh,” Padmé crooned, “he recorded lots of little messages for me before he died. Loved it. Did you know his brother was a station master? I think he was always jealous.”

Anakin's face remained set as stone. “The girl. Where is she? Can I talk to her again?”

“Poor little thing. Alone in the sky on a great, big ship with nowhere to land. But where in the world is she? Clever little problem. If you want to apply yourself to it, I can re-connect you, but first...” Padmé rolled her chair back, revealing a woman bound and gagged behind her.

The Senator sitting in the corner looked up in horror. “That's my  _wife._ That's my wife!” He sprang to the transparisteel wall, alarm in every movement.

“I'm going to shoot the Senator's wife,” Padmé announced.

“Please, no,” the man whispered.

“In about a minute. Bang. Dead.”

Anakin's voice was quiet, so sane, so gentle. “Please don't do that.”

“Well, you  _can_ stop me,” Padmé admitted.

“How?”  
She smiled. “There's a blaster in the hatch. Take it.”  
Obi-Wan felt his stomach roll over, but Anakin did as she directed.

“You want to save the Senator's wife? Choose either Doctor Kenobi or Mace to kill the Senator.”

Mace looked up in horror even as Obi-Wan turned to look at him.

“You can't do it, Anakin,” Padmé clarified. “If you do it, it won't count, I'll kill her anyway. It has to be your brother or your friend.”

The Senator turned away from the window. “You have to do this.” He looked to Anakin. “Padmé  _will_ kill her.”

Anakin looked down at the weapon in his hand. “Doesn't appear we have a choice.” He approached Mace and held it out.

“Right, then,” Padmé crooned. “Countdown starting.”

“How long?” Obi-Wan asked.

Padmé chuckled. “No, no, no. The countdown is for  _me._ Withholding the precise deadline, I'm going to apply emotional pressure more evenly. Where possible, please give me an explicit verbal indication of your anxiety levels. I can't always read them from your behavior.”

“I can't do this,” Mace whispered, eyes wide as he stared into his blood brother's. “Can't. It's murder.”  
The Senator looked alarmed. “This is  _not_ murder. This is saving my wife.”

“I'm particularly focused on internal conflicts,” Padmé elaborated, “where strategising 'round a largely intuitive moral code appears to create a counter-intuitive result.”

Anakin pressed the blaster towards Mace, but his brother recoiled.

“I will not kill. I will not have blood on my hands!”

“Yes,” Padmé considered. “Very good, thank you.”

“Killing my wife is what you're doing,” The Senator choked.

“No.” Mace retreated, his back hitting the wall.

Anakin stared at him for one last moment before murmuring, “Okay, fine.” He turned around and held the blaster out again. “Obi-Wan.”

His tone left no room for argument.

Obi-Wan felt everything within him twist. He could see,  _feel_ the Senator looking at him with  _hope._

Hope, of all terrible, horrifying things.

“Doctor Kenobi, are you married?” the condemned man asked.

“I was,” Obi-Wan said, and oh, the pain of those two words.

“What happened?”

But Obi-Wan couldn't look at him, his gaze was trapped by Anakin's. “She died.”

Anakin's eyes lowered, the flicker of guilt still lurking there.

The Senator stepped forward, a smile lighting his face. “What would you give to get her back? I mean, if you could, if it was possible. What would you do to save her?”

Obi-Wan lifted his chin, his shoulders squared, but he had no words to offer.

“Padmé _will_ kill me,” the Senator pointed out. “Please save my wife.”

Padmé's voice broke in. “There will, I'm afraid, be regular prompts to create an atmosphere of urgency.”

The lights flicked from white to red, to white and again, Palpatine's voice hissing, “ _Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick-tock, tick-tock-tick..._ ” thorough the speakers, loud and piercing. 

Obi-Wan took the blaster from Anakin's outstretched hand.

Mace turned away, hand pressed to his eyes.

“What's your name?” Obi-Wan asked, looking in the eye the man he was about to kill, reading there the relief and fear alike.

“Bail.”  
“Are you sure about this, Bail?”

Tears filled the man's eyes. “Of course I'm bloody sure.”

“Nearly there,” Padmé sing-songed.

Obi-Wan's fingernails carved into his left palm, drawing blood. _Dear Force, what am I about to do?_ “Right. Do you want to pray or anything?”

“With Padmé Skywalker in the universe, who the hell would I pray to?”

“You are a good man,” Obi-Wan swore. “And you are doing a good thing.”  
Bail smiled, whispering, “So are you.”

“I'll spend the rest of my life telling myself that.”  _And never once believing it._ He looked to Anakin, who gave him a grim nod.

But then, Anakin had never valued human life very highly.

Obi-Wan brought the blaster up, but his hand shook and he couldn't place his finger on the trigger. Memories of the war flitted through his mind—

“Please,” Bail whispered, turning his back to him so he could see his wife.

A second stretched long, and then Obi-Wan stepped forward, patted his shoulder, moved him to his knees.

Bail readily knelt.

Obi-Wan pressed the muzzle to the back of his head, knowing he would never hit the man with how his hand was trembling if he didn't.

Bail dragged in a shaking breath.

“I know that you're scared,” Obi-Wan whispered, “but you should also be very proud.”

“Just  _do_ it,” Bail replied. “Be quick.”

The light went red again.

Obi-Wan braced himself, but everything within him seemed frozen.

“This is very good, Doctor Kenobi,” Padmé praised. “I should have fitted you with a cardiograph.”

To drown out her voice, Obi-Wan murmured, “Goodbye, Bail.”

But still, he couldn't— he  _couldn't—_

“Please,” Bail begged.

And the muzzle pulled back as Obi-Wan turned to Anakin, relief and horror alike flooding his veins. “I'm sorry. I can't do it.”

A keen escaped Bail's lips as Anakin stepped forward to comfort his friend. “It's alright,” Anakin assured.

And then the blaster was no longer  _in_ Obi-Wan's hand but Bail's, and he was swinging it to aim at each of the others in the cell.

“Stop!” Obi-Wan cried. “No! No—”

The two Skywalkers and Kenobi backed to the wall, hands up—

“I'm sorry,” Bail choked.

Anakin's gesture turned placating. “It's alright,” he said again.

“I'm so sorry. Remember me.” Bail pressed the muzzle to his chin.

Three voices cried, “ _No!_ ” and three sets of feet launched three beings forward as the sharp crack of the bolt rang out.

Obi-Wan reared back as he saw the blood and brain matter stain the plasteel— saw the body slide to the ground—

His heart thundered in his chest, he froze, his blood burning and freezing at once.

Mace recoiled, a torn retching gagging through the room.

Obi-Wan stood there, fists clenched, trying to just  _endure_ the next few seconds— 

Anakin looked to him, expression calm, voice mildly concerned. “You alright?”

_No, Anakin. I'm not._

“Interesting,” Padmé mused.

Anakin strode to the plasteel, staring out at her image. “There you go. You got what you wanted, and he's dead.”  
“Dead or alive, it really wasn't very interesting. But you three,  _you three,_ were wonderful. Thank you.”

And Obi-Wan felt as violated as he had the moment the man he'd adored more than anything, his first, had said that very phrase,  _thank you,_ after sex and walked away without ever a backward glance.

“You see what you did, Doctor Kenobi specifically, because of your moral code. Because you don't want blood on your hands, two people are dead instead of one.”  
“Not two people,” Obi-Wan protested.

“Yes. Sorry. Hang on.” Padmé spun her chair around, fired one shot through the woman's head.

A broken sound escaped Obi-Wan as he turned away, bracing his hands behind his head, struggling to  _breathe—_

“What advantage did your moral code grant you? Is it not, in the end, selfish to keep one's hands clean at the expense of another's life?”

Obi-Wan stared at Padmé. “ _You didn't have to kill her!_ ”

“The condition of her survival was that you or Mace had to kill her husband,” Padmé chuckled. “This is an experiment. There will be rigor. Anakin, pick up the blaster. It's your turn next. When I tell you to use it, and I will, remember what happened this time.”

Anakin looked to it, a stubborn expression on his face. “What if I don't want a blaster?”

“Oh, the blaster is intended as a mercy,” Padmé explained.

Anakin didn't look up. “For whom?”

“You.”

“How so?”  
Padmé shrugged. “If someone else had to die, would you really want to do it with your bare hands?”

Obi-Wan felt every muscle in his body stiffen. _Dear Force, please..._

“It would waste valuable time,” Padmé offered.

Anakin looked to  _him._

Obi-Wan stared back, mouth dry, soul raw. “Probably should just take it,” he said, and Anakin did as he suggested.

He _did as he suggested._

He checked the blaster. “There's only one shot left.”

“You will only need one,” Padmé replied, as if that answered all questions. “But you  _will_ need it.”

A door in the side wall slid open.

“Please go through. There's a few tasks for you and a girl on a ship who's getting very, very scared.”

Anakin moved to be the first one through, then glanced back at Mace. “ _Treats_ ?”

“Yes,” his so-much-like-him brother replied. “You know, a violin.”

“In exchange for?”

“She's very clever.”  
Anakin's brows furrowed. “I'm beginning to think _you're_ not.”

And with that they followed the winding corridor, leaving the broken body behind.

They entered another cell, found the walls drenched in red.

“She's been redecorating,” Anakin muttered.

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. “Is that allowed?”  
“She's literally taken over the asylum. We have more to worry about than her choice of color scheme.”

But Mace seemed to care anyway. “Barely dry,” he offered as he drew his fingers away from the paint. “Recent.”  
“That's for our benefit,” Anakin agreed.

The screen on the wall flickered, revealed Padmé. “As a motivator for your continued cooperation, I'm now reconnecting you.”

“ _Are you still there?_ ”

Anakin's voice was remarkably collected as he replied, “Yes, hello. Can you hear us?”

“ _Yes._ ”  
“Everything's going to be alright. I just need you to tell me where you are. Outside, is it day or night?”

“ _Night._ ”

Mace scowled. “That certainly narrows it down to half hemispheres of a thousand planets.”

“What kind of a ship are you on?” Anakin simply  _looked_ at his brother, but his expression was difficult to decipher.

“ _I don't know._ ” She sounded as if she might burst into tears.

Obi-Wan nodded, took a step forward.

It was time to fight.

“Is it big or small?” the doctor asked.

“ _Big._ ”  
Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. “Lots of people on it?”

“Lots and lots. But I can't wake them up.”

“Where did you take off from?” was Anakin's next question.

The girl didn't seem to hear him. “ _And the driver's asleep_ .”  
“No, I understand,” Anakin replied, just a bit of tension creeping into his voice. “But where did you come from? Where did the plane take off?”

“ _My nan's_ .”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes against the panic that wanted to steal his soul.

“Where are you going?” Anakin pursued.

“ _Home_ .”

“No, I mean what  _spaceport_ —”

A chime signaled Padmé's return. “There, there. Enough for now! Time to play a new game.”

Obi-Wan kept his hands braced behind his back, the old military stance the only comfort he had right now.

“Look at the table in front of you. Open the envelope if you want to speak to the girl again. Earn yourself some comm time!”

It was Anakin who reached out to obey.

“This is inhuman. This is insane,” Mace growled.

“Mace,” Obi-Wan barked, “we  _know._ ”

Anakin held up a photo of a man so the other two could see it, and then spread it and three others out on the table in a row.

“Six months ago a man called Farr was murdered, unsolved except by me. He was shot from a distance of three hundred meters with this rife.”

Obi-Wan glanced up, found one balanced on nails driven into the ceiling cross-beam.

If asked to describe a prison asylum, Obi-Wan's first words wouldn't have been  _a blaster waiting in every cell,_ but his opinion on that was rapidly changing.

Anakin reached up and took it from its resting place.

“Now if the police had any brains, they'd realize there are three suspects,” Padmé continued. “All brothers. Boba Fett, Rex Fett, and Cody Fett. All these photos are up-to-date, but which one pulled the trigger, Anakin? Which one?”

Obi-Wan's friend leaned over the images, clearly taken while their subjects were unaware, with black letters scrawled in the corners to mark which was which.

“What's this?” Obi-Wan clarified. “We're supposed to solve this? Based on  _what_ ?”

Anakin didn't look up at him. “This. This is all we get.”

“Please, make use of your friend, Anakin. I want to see you interact with people that you're close to. Also, you may have to choose which one to keep.”

Before Obi-Wan could try to make sense of  _that,_ Anakin held out the sniper rifle. “Here. What do you make of it?”  
“Am I being asked to prove my usefulness?” Mace asked, stiffening.

Anakin gave him a hard look. “Yes. I should think you are.”

“I will  _not_ be manipulated like this.”  
“Fine. Obi-Wan.”

But Obi-Wan was staring at Mace, and trying to  _understand._

“Obi-Wan!”

Snapping out of it, Obi-Wan took the blaster. “Yeah. I think I've seen one of these. It's a nerf blaster. I'd say seventy years old. Old-fashioned sight, they were in style for a few years at that time. No crosshairs.” Obi-Wan confirmed his guess by peering down the sight.

For a brief moment, he wished he could see Padmé through it.

He was fairly certain he would no longer have any trouble pulling a trigger.

“Glasses, glasses,” Anakin muttered, pouring over the pictures. “Rex wears glasses. Farr was shot from three hundred meters. Kickback from a blaster with this caliber would be massive. Break the glasses, drive the shards into his face.” He tapped at the image. “No cuts, no scarring. Who's next, then?” He flipped that image over.

“Well done, Doctor Kenobi!” Mace crowed. “How  _useful_ you are. Do you have a suspicion we're being made to compete?”

And at that point, Obi-Wan was done. He took the two steps needed to get in Mace's personal space. “No, we're not competing,” he enunciated clearly. “There's a ship in the air that's going to crash, so what we're doing is actually trying to save a little girl. Today we have to be soldiers, Mace. Soldiers. And that means to hell with what happens to us.”

Obi-Wan turned away, not wanting to start a war. They needed to work  _together_ to save that poor child.

“Your priorities do you credit,” Mace offered.

Obi-Wan spun around again and snarled, “No, my priorities just got a woman killed!”

“Now,” Padmé interjected, “as I understand it, Anakin, you try to repress your emotions to refine your reasoning. I'd like to see how that works. So if you don't mind, I'm going to apply some context to your deductions.”

A whirring sound from behind had them turning to the window to discover the three suspects dangling from rope just outside of it, eyes wide and bewildered, hands bound, mouths gagged.

“Oh dear Force,” Mace gasped.

Padmé ignored him. “Two of the Fetts work as orderlies. So getting the third along really wasn't too difficult. Once you bring in your verdict, let me know, and justice will be done.”

“Justice?” Anakin asked, staring at the cards hanging around their necks identifying each of the three.

Obi-Wan moved to stand beside him, just inside the window, staring into eyes so close and so unreachable. “What will you do with them?”

“Early release.”

“You'll drop them into the sea,” Anakin clarified.

Padmé's indifference filled her voice. “Sink or swim.”

“They're tied up!” Obi-Wan cried.

“Exactly!” she crowed. “Now there is context. Please continue with your deductions. I'm now focusing on the difference to your mental capacity a specified consequence can make.”

It was Mace who found his voice first. “Why should we  _bother_ ? What if we're disinclined to play your games, little sister?”

She chuckled, a nerve-wracking sound.

“I have, if you remember, provided you with some motivation.”

And then the little girl was speaking again. “ _We're getting through the clouds. They're fluffy._ ”

“Oh,” Anakin spoke up, squeezing his eyes shut as if to focus. “That's nice. Try to tell me more about the ship.”

“ _Why won't my mummy wake up?_ ”

And then it was Padmé looking out at them again, expectantly.

Anakin's fingers danced between the two remaining suspect images. “It's got to be one of the two. Now. Cody—” he returned to the window— “Cody is a lifelong drunk. Pallor of his skin, terrible gin blossoms on his red nose. And terror notwithstanding, a terrible case of the DTs. There's no way he could have taken that shot from three hundred meters away.”

He moved to stare at the final brother. “So that leaves us with Boba. Indentations on the temple suggests he habitually wears glasses. Frown line suggests a lifetime of peering.”

“He's shortsighted,” Mace agreed. “Or he was. His recent laser surgery has done the trick.”

Anakin looked over at him. “Laser surgery?”

“Look at his clothes. He's made an effort.”

“That's very good,” Obi-Wan murmured under his breath. Maybe they could  _do_ this, they could save the innocent—

“Excellent,” Anakin added. “Suddenly he sees himself in quite a different light, now that he's dumped the specs. But he's clearly not used to his new grooming ritual, that could be told by the state of his fingernails and the fact that there's hair growing in his ears. So it's a superficial job, then.”

Obi-Wan squinted, trying to see what the brothers saw.

Anakin didn't wait for him. “But he's got his eyes fixed. His hands were steady. He pulled the trigger. He killed Farr.” He turned to Padmé with a vicious triumph in his face.

“Are you ready to condemn the prisoner?”

“Anakin, we can't do this,” Mace whispered.

“ _Ship,_ remember?” Anakin snapped back. 

Padmé looked bored. “Anakin! Are you ready?”

“Boba,” Anakin murmured, searching Obi-Wan's eyes, but his friend couldn't offer him whatever reassurance he might be looking for.

“Say it,” Padmé insisted. “Condemn him in the knowledge of what will happen to the man you name.”

Anakin slowly turned around, staring straight into the eyes of the man he believed guilty. “I condemn Boba Fett,” he murmured.

Obi-Wan's heart exploded up his throat as the man so named remained suspended while the other two were immediately dropped to the pounding surf below.

“Mind the gap,” Palpatine's voice cautioned.

Obi-Wan felt his mind begin to splinter around the edges.

“Congratulations,” Padmé praised. “You got the right one! Now, go through the other door.” As she spoke, a metal door slid up to allow them passage.

“You dropped the other two,” Obi-Wan hissed out. “ _Why_ ?”

“Interesting.”

But Obi-Wan had lost the ability to retain his calm. “ _Why?_ ”

“Does it really make a difference killing the innocent instead of the guilty?”

Anakin wasn't even listening, instead, he was moving through the door.

“Let's see.” Padmé's finger jabbed a button, and Boba fell to join his brothers in death. “No,” Padmé mused. “That felt pretty much the same.”

Obi-Wan stared after him, unable to do anything but  _stand_ there in the weight of the hell they were trapped in.

Anakin's voice by his ear caused him to turn around.

His soul brother had come back for him.

“Obi-Wan, don't let her distract you.”

“ _Distract_ me?” Obi-Wan choked.

Anakin's eyes were firm, steadying. “Soldiers today.”

Somehow, Obi-Wan found strength in those eyes. He clung to the man's reminder, squared his shoulders—

He didn't have to survive. His mind didn't have to survive.

All he had to do was endure and  _fight_ to save who he could.

The girl.

He would endure  _anything_ and fight to his last gasp to save the girl.

When Anakin stepped again for the door, Obi-Wan followed, a burning determination in his soul.

Mace followed a bit behind, looking both uncomfortable and unhappy.

Anakin held the blaster at the ready as they stepped into the new room— unadorned concrete walls this time— and discovered an open, well-lit casket. Empty, with the lid leaned against one of the walls.

“One moment,” Padmé announced, and then the girl's voice whispered through again.

“ _Frightened. I'm really frightened._ ”

“It's okay,” Anakin soothed. “Don't worry. I don't have very long with you, so I just need you to tell me what you can see outside the ship.”

“Just lakes. Lakes and trees.”

“Are there boats on the lakes?”

“No. I can see lights in the distance.”

“Is it a city?”

“I think so.”

“She's about to fly over a city in a pilotless ship,” Mace hissed. “We'll have to talk her through it.”

“Through what?” Obi-Wan asked. His brain couldn't seem to work. It felt sluggish.

A classic response to enduring torture, his body and mind shutting down—

But he couldn't afford that right now.

“ _Hello, are you still there?_ ”

“Still here, just give us a minute,” Anakin called.

Mace looked Obi-Wan square in the eye and continued his whispers. “Getting the ship away from any mainland, any populated areas. It  _has_ to crash somewhere other than the city.”

“What about the girl?” Obi-Wan heard himself asking, though he already  _knew_ what Mace was going to say.

“Well,  _obviously,_ Doctor Kenobi, she's the one who is going to crash it.”

Obi-Wan tried to breathe. “No. We can help her land it.”

Anakin looked from one to the other as they spoke, expression bordering on uncertain.

“And if we fail, she crashes into a city. How many will die  _then_ ?” Mace argued.

Obi-Wan grit his teeth. “How are we going to get her to do that?”

And  _then_ Mace could no longer meet his gaze as he murmured, “I'm afraid we're going to have to give her hope.” 

Obi-Wan knew his loathing stole his face, and he  _really_ didn't care. He  _despised_ this man.

“Is there really no one there who can help you?” Anakin called out. “Have you really,  _really_ checked?”

“ _Everyone's asleep,_ ” she sobbed. “ _Won't you help me?_ ”

“We're going to do everything that we can,” Anakin promised, his gaze sliding to Obi-Wan's.

Obi-Wan simply stood there, watching him, knowing he probably looked cornered and broken and  _bleeding,_ but he had no strength to feign wisdom. 

The child's voice whimpered through the comm. “ _I'm scared. I'm really scared._ ”

“It's alright,” Anakin offered, voice light. “I—”

The static was the only warning they had before Padmé's face again filled the screen. “Now, back to the magic at hand. Coffin. Problem: Someone is about to die. It will be, as I understand it, a tragedy. So many days not lived. So many words unsaid. Etcetera, etcetera. Etcetera, etcetera—”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Anakin interrupted. “And this, I presume, will be their coffin.”  
“Whose coffin, Anakin? Please, start your deductions. I will apply some context in a moment.”

Anakin huffed out a sigh. “Well, allowing for the entirely pointless courtesy of headroom, I'd say this coffin is intended for someone of about 5-foot-four.”

Which, of course, filled Obi-Wan's head with images of pounding on a corpse's forehead to wedge it into a coffin  _without_ the “pointless” headroom and was instead precise in its match to the centimeter.

He swallowed the near-hysterical laugh of despair that wanted to well up.

Anakin didn't seem to notice and kept right on. “Makes it more likely to be a woman.”  
“Not a child?” Obi-Wan asked.

“A child's coffin would be more expensive. This is in the lower price range, although still, best available in that bracket.”  
“That was a lonely night on Google,” Obi-Wan muttered.  _I hate that you know this. I hate it._

Anakin ignored him. “This is a practical and informed choice. Balance of probability suggests that this is for an unmarried woman, distant from her close relatives. That much is suggested by the economy of choice—”

As Anakin's tongue ran on, Obi-Wan watched Mace walk over to the wall and pull the lid from its resting place, turning it to look at the top.

“—acquainted with the process of death, but unsentimental about the necessity of disposal. Also, the lining of the coffin—”

“Yes, yes,” Mace interrupted. “Very good, Anakin. Or we could just look at the name on the lid.” He turned the shaped wood around, revealing a plaque that simply read,  _I love you_ . “Only it isn't a name.”  
Obi-Wan stared at it and drew in a steadying breath. “So it's somebody who loves somebody.”

“It's for somebody who loves Anakin,” Mace clarified. “This is all about you. Everything here.”  
Anakin stepped back to the head of the coffin, as if in a daze.

“So?” Mace pursued. “Who loves you? I'm assuming it's not a long list.”  
And the coffin _was_ four inches too short for Obi-Wan, so he offered, “Asajj Ventress?”  
“Don't be ridiculous,” Anakin scoffed. “Look at the coffin.”

Obi-Wan  _did,_ but he didn't  _see._

“Unmarried. Practical about death. Alone.”

“Miraj,” Obi-Wan murmured as Anakin spoke, his forehead furrowing:

“Miraj Scintel.”  
Padmé beamed. “She's perfectly safe for the moment! Her flat is rigged to explode in approximately three minutes—” the screen shifted to show Miraj's kitchen, and a large countdown timer sat in the corner— “unless I hear the release code from her lips. I'm calling her on your comlink, Anakin. Make her say it.”

Anakin's eyes squeezed shut, and Obi-Wan saw more pain in his face than he'd thought possible.

“Say what?” Obi-Wan asked.

“ _Obvious,_ Ani.”

“No,” Obi-Wan countered.

Anakin looked to him, eyes hopeless. “Yes.” He looked pointedly to the plate on the lid.

“Oh. One important restriction,” Padmé added. “You're not allowed to mention in any way at all that her life is in danger. You may not, at any point, suggest that there is some form of crisis. If you do, I will end this session and her life. Are we clear?”

Anakin gave a wordless nod.

They could hear the comlink's wait tones.

Miraj, leaning over the sink, looked up and checked her comm.

Seeing the name listed, she lifted a knife and began to cut a jogan.

“What is she doing?” Anakin gasped.

Mace threw him a glance. “She's making tea.”  
“Yes, but why isn't she answering her comm?” Anakin sounded strained.

Obi-Wan considered all the times Anakin had manipulated Miraj's attraction to him and left her standing there, humiliated and alone.

But he didn't speak of it.

Instead, he pointed out, “You never answer  _your_ comm.”  
“Yes,” Anakin retorted, impatient, “but it's  _me_ calling!”

And Obi-Wan was too heartbroken and dying inside to resent him for his self-focused arrogance.

“Hi, this is Miraj, at the dead center of town.” The voice on the answering machine chuckled. “Leave a message.”

Padmé broke in. “Okay, okay. Just one more time.”

Obi-Wan watched the timer, watched the woman oblivious to the surveillance, whispered, “Come on, Miraj. Pick up, pick up.”  _Please, Force dammit— forgive the selfish bastard just one more time—_

She finished squeezing the jogan into a mixing cup, and dried her hands off on a towel before sighing and lifting her comlink.

“Hello, Anakin. Is this urgent, because I'm not having a good day.”

“Miraj, I just want you to do something very easy for me and not ask why,” Anakin explained.

Obi-Wan's heart dropped into his shoes.  _No. No. She's dead._

“Oh,  _Force,_ is this one of your stupid games?” Miraj huffed out as a long, frustrated sigh.

“No. It's not a game. I need you to help me.”

“But I'm not at the lab.”

“It's not about that.”  
Miraj frowned. “Well, quickly, then.”

Anakin bit his lip, gaze torn—

“Anakin?” Miraj asked. “What is it? What do you want?”

The lights turned red, Palpatine's voice hissing his clockwork in the background. Obi-Wan clenched his teeth and braced himself for an explosion that he feared would rip the last of his heart out.

“Miraj, please, without asking why, just say these words.”

“What words?”  
“'I love you.'”

Miraj stared at the comm with absolute bitterness, and through a sniff she couldn't contain, hissed, “ _Leave me alone,_ ” moving to end the call.

“No!” Anakin blurted. “Miraj, please don't! Don't hang up!  _Just don't hang up!_ ”

“Calmly, Anakin,” Padmé reminded. “Or I will finish her right now.”  
Miraj's voice came through, sad and angry. “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making fun of me?”

“Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me.”

“Softer, Anakin,” Padmé corrected.

Anakin forced his voice into the same tone he'd been using for the child on the ship. “Miraj, this is for a case. It's a sort of experiment.”  
“I'm not an experiment,  _Anakin_ .”

“No, I know you're not an experiment,” Anakin replied, quickly, just a bit of panic in his eyes. “You're my friend. We're friends,” he repeated, as if to convince himself. “But please, just say those words for me.”  
“Please don't do this. Just... just don't do it,” she whispered, sounding almost as close to shattering as Obi-Wan himself.

“It's very important. I can't say why.”

Obi-Wan flinched, expecting fire—

It didn't come—

“But I promise you, it is.”  
“I can't say it. I can't say that to you.”

“Of course you can,” Anakin scoffed. “Why can't you?”

“You know why.”  
“No. I _don't_ know why,” he returned, and Obi-Wan could see the frustration in him now.

_Dear Force..._

Miraj heaved out one last sigh and drove away her tears with a determined sniffle. “Of course you do,” she replied, her voice remarkably steady.

Again, the lights flicked red, Palpatine's voice pounding holes through their brains—

When given the line again, Anakin murmured, “Please. Just say it.”

“I can't. Not to you.”

“ _Why_ ?”

“Because... because it's  _true._ Because it's true, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan felt his heart break for her, the poor woman baring her soul to a man who was staring in shocked confusion at the screen, a confusion rapidly clearing and turning to horror.

“It's always been true.”

“If it's true, just say it anyway.”

And in that moment, even though Anakin was trying to save Miraj's life, Obi-Wan  _hated_ him for the cold, merciless tone.

She choked a laugh. “You bastard.”

“Say it  _anyway_ .”

“You say it,” she challenged. “Go on. You say it first.”

Anakin blinked at the screen, his horror growing. “What?”

“Say it.” And now  _she_ was the merciless one. “Say it like you mean it.”

Anakin looked to Padmé, but she simply announced, “Final thirty seconds.”

“I...” Anakin squeezed his eyes shut, and then out came the most horrifying thing Obi-Wan had ever heard. A pure, sweet,  _genuine,_ absolutely breathtaking lie: “I love you. I  _love_ you.”  
Watching the tears shift from anger to hope, hearing the little intake of air made Obi-Wan want to scream.

_If she survives the next fifteen seconds, soon she'll wish she hadn't._

“Miraj?” Anakin asked, gaze fixed on the countdown. “Miraj,  _please,_ ” and his voice trembled, just a bit.

And then, she whispered, words barely a breath, “I love you.”

Obi-Wan clenched his eyelids shut, trying to swallow against the pain in his throat even as they all gasped in a breath of relief as the countdown ended without an explosion.

“Anakin,” Mace murmured, “However hard that was—”

But his brother wasn't listening. “Padmé, I won. I  _won._ Come on, play fair. The girl on the ship. I need to talk to her.”

Padmé stared back at them with a curious look on her face, and it made Obi-Wan's soul quake in dread.

_No, no, not again. She's going to kill her anyway._

“I won!” Anakin looked almost frantic now. “I saved Miraj Scintel!”

Padmé scoffed. “ _Saved_ her? From what? Oh, do be sensible. There were no explosives in her little house. Why would I be so clumsy? You didn't win. You lost.”  
Anakin stared at her in confusion.

“Look what you did to her.” Padmé's voice was a poisonous vine, twining into Obi-Wan's mind. He wished he could tear it out, set fire to it— “Look what you did to yourself. Look at all those complicated little emotions, I lost count. Emotional context, Anakin, it destroys you every time. Now please, pull yourself together. I need you at peak efficiency. The next one isn't going to be so easy. In your own time.”

A door slid open and Padmé's face disappeared from the screen.

Anakin thumped the blaster down on the coffin's table and turned away from the opening. He lifted the lid, gently placed it on the coffin, and Obi-Wan could see something breaking in his eyes. “Anakin?”

“No.  _No._ ” And then the fury that Obi-Wan knew so well came spilling out of him as he smashed his fist against the lid of the coffin again and again, splintering the wood and  _screaming_ at his helplessness, at being a trapped lab rodent, at the lost memories of his childhood, at everyone and every _thing—_

When the coffin began to fall apart he took the pieces and smashed them against the table until only splinters and fabric remained.

The other two watched in silence as Anakin wore himself out, not a tear to be seen, just depthless, unspeakable rage.

It was only after he'd collapsed, huddled against the wall and panting for oxygen, that Obi-Wan lifted the blaster from the table and moved to stand before him.

“Look, I know this is difficult. I know that you're being tortured. But you have got to keep it together,” he murmured, voice firm.

Anakin didn't look up at him. “This isn't torture. This is vivisection. We're experiencing science from the perspective of lab rodents.”

Finally he looked up at him.  _Saw_ Obi-Wan's grim expression. Saw his deadly calm. Saw his squared shoulders.

“Soldiers,” Anakin murmured.

“Soldiers,” Obi-Wan agreed.

And Obi-Wan reached down to help pull his friend, the other half of his soul, to his feet.

Together they stepped through the door to face whatever new torment awaited. Heads up, eyes set like flint, and solid against the night.

As they walked, Obi-Wan handed Anakin the blaster once more, and without a word the other man accepted it.

And as they cleared the short hallway, Anakin turned to a screen that had not yet formed into a face. There were many of them this time, all around the room “Hey, Sis. Don't mean to complain, but this one's empty. What happened? Did you run out of ideas?”

“It's not empty, Anakin. You've still got the blaster, haven't you?” Her face and voice filled the room. “I told you you'd need it, because only two can play the next game Just two of you go on from here. Your choice. It's make-your-mind-up time. Whose help do you need the most? Obi-Wan or Mace? It's an elimination round. You choose one and kill the other.”

 

* * *

 

The blaster in Anakin's hand felt so heavy, and the memory of desperate, terrified, _innocent_ eyes staring at him— of blood— of screams—

_Haven't enough people died today for this terrible game?_

Anakin slowly turned away from the screen, finding Obi-Wan and Mace staring at him.

“You have to choose family or friend. Mace or Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

And then the light in the room turned red, Palpatine's taunting voice hissing, “ _Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...”_

“Padmé,  _enough,_ ” Mace grit out.

His sister smiled back at him. “Not yet. But nearly. Remember, there's a ship in the sky and it's not going to land.”

Obi-Wan was moving, a half step forward, another back, his jaw set, the line between his forehead furrowed.

Mace stepped forward. “Well?”  
“Well what?” Anakin asked in return.

“We're not actually going to discuss this, are we?” He sent half-scornful, half-sympathetic glance in Obi-Wan's direction. “I'm sorry, Doctor Kenobi. You are a fine man in many respects.” He looked back to Anakin again. “Make your goodbyes and shoot him.”

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan's heart leapt into his throat, pounding viciously.

Anakin stood frozen, staring at his brother.

Mace looked just a bit puzzled, frowned, said louder, “Shoot him.”  
“What?” Obi-Wan stepped forward, just a bit stunned the older brother was actually saying this aloud.

“Shoot Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Mace repeated, the words sounding innocent in his mouth, and speaking to his little brother. “There's no questioning who has to continue from here. It's us. You and me. Whatever lies ahead requires brain power, Anakin. Not sentiment. Don't prolong his agony. Shoot him.”  
Obi-Wan found he couldn't tear his gaze away from Mace's calm face. “Do I get a say in this?”

“Today we are soldiers,” Mace replied, finally looking at him, still so deadly calm. “Soldiers die for their country. I regret, Doctor Kenobi, that privilege is now yours.”

 

* * *  
  


Obi-Wan didn't move, his expression didn't shift.

What came out of his mouth was a quiet, “Kark. He's right.”

Anakin stared at him in shock.

Obi-Wan turned to him, determination in his eyes. “He is, in fact, right.”

“Make it swift,” Mace directed. “No need to prolong his agony. Get it over with, and we can get to work.”

Obi-Wan squared his shoulders, braced his feet.

Still Anakin could not move.

Mace saw it and chuckled, a sick, twisted laugh. “Force. I should have expected this.” A triumphant leer lit his face. “Pathetic. You always were the slow one. The idiot. That's why I've always despised you.”

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan stared at the wall, ready, waiting—

“You shame us all,” Mace asserted. “You shame the family name.” The sneer turned to something cold and vicious. “Now for once in your life, do the right thing. Put this _stupid_ little man out of all our misery.”

The flare of anger within him Obi-Wan harnessed and dragged into submission.

_You must get out of here, Anakin. Padmé must be stopped._

_Your brother, horrible as he is, is your only chance of surviving._

And Anakin  _must_ survive.

“Shoot him,” Mace hissed.

Anakin wasn't looking at either of them. His hand was shaking, his gaze directed to the floor. “Stop it,” he murmured.

“Look at him,” mocked his brother. “What is he? Nothing more than a distraction. A little scrap of ordinariness for you to impress, to dazzle with your cleverness. You'll find another.”  
Anakin's voice was still so quiet as he begged, “Please. For Force' sake, please, just stop it.”

“Why?”

“Because, on balance, even your Senator Taa was more convincing.” Anakin looked up, finally met his brother's gaze.

And finally Mace's eyes shifted, gaze falling away.

“Ignore everything he just said,” Anakin murmured, looking to Obi-Wan. “He's trying to be kind. He's trying to make it easy for me to kill him.”

Shock spilled through Obi-Wan's soul.  _What?_

Mace made a grim little expression that said  _worth a try_ .

_Dear Force, what has Padmé reduced us to?_ Obi-Wan's heart wailed.  _Even Mace is trying to save me._

“Which is why this is going to be so much harder.” Anakin aimed the blaster for his brother.

“You said you liked my rendition of Senator Taa,” chided Mace.

Obi-Wan watched in horror. “Anakin, don't,” he breathed.

“It isn't your decision, Doctor Kenobi,” Mace murmured, and there was a kindness Obi-Wan could read in his voice. He looked back to his brother. “Not in the face, though, please. I promised my brain to the Royal Society.”

“Where would you suggest?” Anakin asked, something brittle in his voice, something weeping behind his eyes.

Mace adjusted his suit. “Well, I suppose there _is_ a heart somewhere inside me. I don't imagine it's much of a target—”

A tiny smile touched Anakin's lips—

“—but why don't we try for that?”

Obi-Wan stepped in between them, hands outstretched. When he spoke, he could barely gain enough volume for his words to be heard. “I won't allow this.”

Mace looked him in the eye. “This is my fault. Palpatine.”

“Palpatine?” Anakin echoed.

“Her Lifeday treat.” Mace looked grim. “Five minutes' conversation with Sheev Palpatine five years ago.”

“What did they discuss?” Anakin asked.

Mace's expression tightened. “Five minutes' conversation, unsupervised.”

A vicious sigh escaped Anakin, a terrible fire lighting in his eyes.

“Goodbye, brother mine.” Mace gave him a sad smile, raised his chin, squared his shoulders. “No flowers, by request.”

Anakin's face twisted, he readjusted his grip on the blaster, he blinked hard, his eyes obscured—

“Palpatine thought you would make this choice,” Padmé breathed, sounding almost reverent. “He was so excited.”

The light switched to red again— Obi-Wan hadn't realized it had returned to normal until it was taken away again.

“And here we are,” Palpatine's voice whispered through the speakers, as vicious now as it had been when recorded five years ago, “at the end of the line. Skywalker killing Skywalker. This is where I get off.”

Anakin's face crumpled. “Five minutes,” he whispered. “It took her just  _five_ minutes to do all of this to us.”

Mace watched him, but his expression was turning uncertain, almost worried—

Anakin's gaze darted to Obi-Wan, who looked back at him in lost grief.

_I don't know how to get us out of here._

Never had Obi-Wan felt more like an insect played with by giants— and he  _lived_ between Mace and Anakin, and had been married to Satine.

“Not on my watch,” Anakin swore.

Padmé's smile faltered. “What are you doing?”

“A moment ago, a brave man asked to be remembered.”

The blood and brain matter of that man dripped again in Obi-Wan's mind—

“I'm remembering the Senator.” Anakin lifted the blaster and placed the muzzle beneath his chin. “Ten.”

Alarm flooded Padmé's face. “No,  _no,_ Anakin—”

“Nine.”

Obi-Wan's gaze snapped from Anakin to Mace, saw the other's horror matched his own— looked back—

“Eight.”

“You can't!” Padmé protested. “You don't know about Bluetail yet.”

“Seven. Six.”

Padmé scowled. “ _Anakin_ !”

Obi-Wan stood frozen, everything in him screaming to  _stop_ Anakin, to intervene—

But he was the only piece Padmé  _needed._

_This is the only way to drive her to make a mistake._

And until the sister made a mistake...

They had no hope.

“Five.”

“Anakin,  _stop this at once!_ ” Padmé shrieked.

Anakin slapped a hand to the back of his neck, eyes widening— “Four—”

Obi-Wan felt a sting to his throat, reached up, realized what it was—

“Three,” Anakin slurred. “Two—”

Obi-Wan sank to his knees, his brain shutting down— he saw Anakin topple backwards, arms outstretched.

And then he was gone.

 

* * *

 

“Are you still there?”  
The voice echoed through Anakin's pounding head, and he slowly dragged himself upright. “Yes,” he soothed, trying to make his voice work. “Yes, I'm still here.”

“ _You went away_ ,” begged the terrified child. “ _You said you'd help me, and you went away._ ”

“Yes I know. Well, I'm sorry about that. We must have gotten cut off.” Anakin stared at the table he'd been sprawled on, then squinted up at the bars above him, through which he could see the moon. _Somewhere new._

He remembered the cold press of the blaster beneath his chin, remembered a slight sting—

_Padmé didn't appreciate my move._ “How long was I away?”

“ _Hours and hours._ Why _don't grownups tell the truth?_ ”

“No, I am telling the truth,” Anakin reassured. “You can trust me.”  _Where am I?_

“ _Where did you go?_ ”

Anakin grimaced. “I'm not completely sure. Um— now, tell you what. You've got to be really, really brave for me. Can you go to the front of the ship? Can you do that?”

“ _The front?_ ”

“Yes. That's right. The front.” Anakin found a lantern on the table beside him, lit it, and slid off until his feet touched the cold floor. Edging his way forward, he reached the wall.

He found images, so many images— himself as a child, other children he didn't recognize—

“ _You mean where the driver is?_ ”

“Yes.”

“ _Okay_ ,” sniffled the child. “ _I'm going_ .”

“Are you there yet?”  
But it was Obi-Wan's voice that came back to him this time. “Yes. I'm here.”

“Obi-Wan.” Anakin's feet took him around the room, no longer looking at individual images but trying to see the whole as a pattern. “Where are you?”

“I don't know. I've just woken up. Where are you?”  
“In another cell. I've just spoken to the girl on the ship again. We've been out for hours.”

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, shocked. “She's still up there?”

“Yes. The ship will keep flying until it runs out of fuel. Is Mace with you?”

“Ah— I don't know. I can hardly see.” The sounds of water sloshing filtered through the comm system. “Mace? Mace?”

Anakin pressed palms against his aching eyelids. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Keep exploring. Tell me anything you can about where you are.”

“The walls are rough,” Obi-Wan elaborated, the disturbed water noises continuing. “Rock, I suppose.”

“What are you standing on?”  
“Ah— stone, I think, but there's about two feet of water—” his voice hitched.

Anakin felt fear spike through himself again. “What? What is it?”  
“Chains.” Obi-Wan's voice had turned grim. “My feet are chained up. I can feel something— yes. Bones, Anakin. There are bones in here.”  
Under the table Anakin caught sight of a food bowl. “What kind of bones?” he asked as he crouched to lift it up.

“I don't know. Small?”

The dish now in Anakin's hand, he stared at the red lettering against its side. “Bluetail,” he whispered it aloud.

This time it was the child's voice over the comm asking, “ _Who is Bluetail?_ ”

“Hello.”  _Please, Padmé, enough._ “Are you at the front of the ship now?”

“ _Yes. I still can't wake the driver up._ ”  
_Dead, little one._ “That's alright. What can you see out the window?”

“ _A waterfall. There's a big waterfall._ ”

“Alright. Well, you and I are going to have to drive this ship together. Just you and me.”

“ _We are?_ ”

“Yeah,” Anakin scoffed. “There's nothing to it. We just need to get in touch with some people on the ground. Now, can you see anything that looks like a comm?”

“ _No._ ”  
“That's alright. Keep looking. We've got plenty of time.”

A scream shattered through the room, and Anakin clenched his fist, forcing his voice to remain steady. “What's wrong?”

“ _The whole ship's shaking!_ ”

“That's just turbulence,” Anakin lied. “There's nothing to worry about.”

“ _My ears hurt_ ,” the child sobbed.

“Does the waterfall look like it's getting closer?”

There was silence for a moment, then, “ _A little bit_ .”  
“Alright, then. That means you're nearly home.”

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan's voice. The utter helplessness, the edge of fear in the calm tone sent pain down Anakin's spine. “I'm in a well. That's where I am— I'm chained at the bottom of a well.”

“Why would there be a well in the Citadel?” Anakin asked. He felt the cold breeze and muttered, “Why is there a draft?” But there was more. The edge of color on the floor didn't match...

“Walls don't contract after you paint them,” he muttered. “Not real ones.” He placed both hands against the wall and pushed.

It toppled over, revealing an old, abandoned stone house in the night.

“I'm home,” he whispered. “Varykino Hall.”

“Me and Sheev Palpatine, we got on like a house on fire,” Padmé explained from somewhere  _else,_ her voice now replacing Obi-Wan's through the speakers, “which reminded me of home.”

Anakin abandoned the cell which began to topple over behind him. “Yeah. It's just an old building. I don't care. Tell me about the ship.  _Now_ !”

“Sweet Sheev. He was never very interested in being alive, especially if he could make more trouble being dead.”

“Yep,” Anakin snarled. “Still not interested. The  _ship._ ”

“You knew he'd take his revenge. His revenge, apparently, is me.”

Anakin opened the door closest and stepped inside, smelling mildew and rot. “Padmé, let me speak to the little girl on the ship, and I'll play any game you like.”

“First, find Bluetail.” Padmé sounded bored, and her voice seemed closer, coming from a new source.

Anakin strode down the hall, found a massive screen, with Padmé staring out at him. “I'm letting the water in now,” she announced, tone casual. “You don't want me to drown another one of your pets, do you?

“At long last, Anakin Skywalker, It's time to solve the Varykino Ritual. Your very first case, and the final problem. Oh, bye-bye.”

And then it was Obi-Wan's voice, crying out, “Anakin!”

“ _I that am lost,_

“ _Oh, who will find me?_

“ _Deep down below the old beech tree,_ ” Padmé sung over the sound of rushing water.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan cried again.

“ _Help, succor me now; the east winds blow..._ ”

Anakin followed his friend's voice through another door, found a second screen showing water pouring, pouring— “Obi-Wan? Can you hear me?  _Obi-Wan_ ?”

He was answered with a child's scream. “ _Help me! Help me_ please _!_ ”

“Anakin!”

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin felt his heart thundering as he tried to  _think._   
“Yes. The well is flooding.” There was an edge of desperation in the quiet voice that cut Anakin through almost as terribly as the hysterical child.

“Try as long as possible not to drown,” Anakin returned, needing Obi-Wan to  _live—_

“ _What_ ?” Obi-Wan blurted back.

_Oh, that must have been one of those socially incorrect phrases._ “I'm going to find you,” Anakin explained. “I  _am finding_ you!”

“Hurry up, please!” Obi-Wan shouted back. “Because I don't have very long!”

“ _It's leaning over!_ ” the little girl shrieked. “ _The whole ship!_ ”

 

* * *

 

Padmé's singing never faltered.

Obi-Wan fumbled with the chains, trying to find a way to free himself, but they offered no escape.

_I have to give Anakin as much time as possible._

The chain had some length...

Obi-Wan edged to the wall, trying to find fingerholds on the slippery stones, dragging himself slowly up—

Fingers slipped, his foot followed—

With a yell he fell back into the rising water, the rush of it drowning out the sound of Padmé's voice.

 

* * *

 

“Padmé, you said the answer is in the song,” Anakin said, racing back to the first screen, “but I went through the song, line by line, all those years ago and I found nothing. I couldn't find anything. There  _was_ a beech tree in the garden and I dug and dug and  _dug_ ! Sixteen feet by six, sixteen yards, sixteen meters, and I found nothing.  _No one._ ”

But his sister did not reply.

“Anakin?” came Obi-Wan's voice, sounding unsure.

Padmé smiled. “It  _was_ a clever little puzzle, wasn't it? So why couldn't you work it out, Anakin?”  
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, something terrible in his voice. “There's something you need to know.”

“And  _here_ it comes,” Padmé sing-songed.

“Anakin. The bones I found?”

“Yes,” Anakin breathed, moving back to Obi-Wan's screen. “They're a tooka's. That's Bluetail.”  
“Mace has been lying to you,” Obi-Wan murmured back. “To both of us. They're not tooka bones.”

“Remember Mommy's allergy?” Padmé crooned. “What  _was_ she allergic to? What would she never let you have all those times you begged? She never let you have a tooka.”

But he could  _hear_ her  _meowing,_ he could feel the rumble of her purr— 

“Your funny little memory, Anakin,” Padmé soothed. “You were upset, so you told yourself a better story. But we never had a tooka.”

Anakin could see her. See her smile, hear her laugh, see her running along the beach— “Ahsoka,” he choked.

Padmé watched him, her eyes so blank. “Now it's coming.”  
“Ahsoka Tano.” It was Anakin's voice but it didn't  _feel_ like it, it didn't feel  _real—_ “We played Jedi. I was Gold Leader and she was—” Tears filled his eyes, his voice— “Blue Tail.”

Padmé sounded fond as she replied. “You were inseparable. But I wanted to play too.”

Anakin couldn't quite breathe. He  _tried,_ but— “Oh Force,” he could barely make himself audible, “what did you do?”

“ _I that am lost, oh, who will find me? Deep down below the old beech tree.”_

He could imagine her, eyes wide, staring up from the bottom of the well Obi-Wan was trapped in, wailing, “Please let me out! Someone help me, please!”

“Deep water, Anakin,” Padmé crooned. “All your life, in all your dreams. Deep waters.”  
Tears fell without sobs down Anakin's cheeks. “You killed her. You killed my best friend.”

“I never  _had_ a best friend,” Padmé hissed. “I had no one. No one.”

Through his pain, he remembered Padmé running along the beach, toy ship in her hands, eyes so clear—

A child who had murdered another child—

Playing among the gravestones—

One of the stones...

_Carrick Skywalker._

Carrick wasn't just a name.

_Noun [car-ick]_

_Taung- no one, nobody_ .

“Okay,” Anakin whispered. “Okay. Let's play.”

And then he raced out of the house, the lantern swinging from his hand. He ran around the house to the tombstones, began searching from one to the next.

“ _Are you there?_ ” the little girl asked.

But this time, Anakin had no comfort for her. “I need your help. I need to solve a puzzle.”  
“ _But what about the ship?_ ”

“The puzzle will save the plane.” To himself he continued speaking, voice a low mutter, “The wrong dates. She used the wrong dates from the gravestones as the key to the cipher, and the cipher was the song.”

So many stones, the years inaccurate, not matching the claimed number of years lived—

“Is this  _strictly_ relevant?” Obi-Wan demanded, voice strained—

“Yes, it is. I'll be with you in a minute.” Anakin lined the numbers up in his mind, so many numbers—

“ _The lights are getting closer_ ,” the girl sniffled.

Anakin replied on autopilot. “Hush now. I'm working.”  _Let's number the words of the song... then rearrange the numbers to match the sequence on the gravestones..._

They flowed together, merged, everything he didn't need fell away, leaving the answer.

I am lost without your love help me brother save my soul seek my room.

His eyes widened. “Oh Force.”

He drove his feet to run faster than he ever had in his life, he had to  _fly—_

“ _We're going to crash!_ ” wailed the child. “ _We're going to die!_ ”

“I think it's time you told me your real name,” Anakin panted as he fled.

“ _I'm not supposed to tell my name to strangers_ ,” the little one whimpered. 

He cleared the stairs, paused before a closed door. “But I'm not a stranger. Am I.” He opened the door, found Padmé clothed in a dirty nightshift, sitting on the floor, hands clinging to her knees and eyes closed. “I'm your brother.” He took a ginger step forward. “I'm here, Padmé.”  
“You're playing with me, Anakin. We're playing the game.”

Anakin tried to still his thundering heart. “Okay,” he appeased. “The game. Yes. I get it now. The song was never a set of directions.”  
“I'm in the plane. I'm going to crash,” Padmé whimpered. “And you're going to save me.”  
“Look how brilliant you are,” Anakin whispered, careful not to scare her. “Your mind has created the perfect metaphor. You're high above us, all alone in the sky, and you understand everything except how to land.” He sat beside her. _Live, Obi-Wan,_ please, _I need you—_ “Now I'm just an idiot, but I'm on the ground. I can bring you home.”  
Padmé shook her head, never once opening her eyes. “No. No, it's too late.”  
“No, it's not.”

“Every time I close my eyes, I'm on the plane. I'm lost,” Padmé sobbed. “Lost in the sky, and no one can hear me.”

Anakin reached out his hand, placed it over one of her own. “Open your eyes,” he whispered. “I'm here. You're not lost anymore.”

And then she was in his arms, and he held her close.

“Now,” he whispered, shaking, every part of him shaking, “you just... you just went the wrong way last time, that's all. This time, get it right. Tell me how to save my friend.”

She didn't speak.

Anakin pulled back, hand reaching up to cradle her head. “Padmé, help me save Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

As she stared into his eyes, her own widened—

_You could shatter me. You could completely destroy me._

_Please... please don't._

And then she chose.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan stood, hunched and shivering, a blanket wrapped around his freezing frame.

Anakin stood beside him, unable to speak a word.

He watched Padmé being led away. He heard the news that his brother was shaken, but had survived.

Apparently Padmé locked him in her old cell.

“What goes around comes around,” Obi-Wan murmured.

He heard his own voice asking for care for Mace, heard himself murmur, “He's not as strong as he thinks he is.”

But he wasn't sure if he really meant his brother.

“Are you okay?” Obi-Wan murmured, as if he hadn't almost been murdered to make a point to Anakin.

_Always thinking of me._

“I said I'd bring her home,” Anakin whispered. He stared at the durasteel and clear plastoid cage Padmé sat impassively within. “I can't. Can I.”

“You gave her what she was looking for. Context.”  
Anakin looked over at him. “Is that good?”

“It's not good, it's not bad.” Obi-Wan looked just a little lost. “It... is what it is.”

 

* * *

 

“ _Alive_ ? For all these years?” Shmi demanded, horror in her voice. “How is that even possible?”  
Anakin watched from the far side of Mace's office, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, head bowed.

“What Uncle Yoda began, I thought it best to continue,” Mace explained.

Their mother's eyes threw sparks. “I am not asking  _how_ you did it, idiot boy! I'm asking  _how could you_ ?”

“I was trying to be kind.”

“ _Kind_ ?” Shmi scoffed, but Anakin could see the shaking in his brother's hand, knew now how to read the murk behind the dark eyes, saw  _so much_ now— “Kind? You told us that our  _daughter_ was  _dead._ ”

“Better that than tell you what she had become. I'm sorry,” Mace murmured.

Qui-Gon rose, his height imposing in the small room. “Whatever she became, whatever she is now, Mace, she remains our  _daughter._ ”

“And my sister,” Mace pointed out.

Shmi withered him with a look. “You should have done better.”

“He did his best,” Anakin murmured, shocking his parents.

But Mace's gaze simply snapped to his, and Anakin could see deep inside his own brokenness mirrored there.

“Then he's very limited,” Shmi dismissed.

“Where is she?” Qui-Gon asked.

Mace squared his shoulders. “Back in the Citadel. Secure, this time. People have died. Without doubt, she will kill again if she has the opportunity. There's no possibility she'll ever be able to leave.”

Qui-Gon leaned over the desk, planting his massive hands on it. “When can we see her?”

“There's no point,” Mace murmured.

Shmi's ire boiled over. “How  _dare_ you say that?”

“She won't talk,” Mace clarified, with the same baffled, almost hurt gleam that looked like annoyance in his eye. One Anakin himself had felt, when Obi-Wan yelled at him for saying something that had apparently been unfeeling to one of their clients. “She won't communicate with anyone in any way. She has passed beyond our view. There are no words that can reach her now.”

Shmi turned, clear eyes finding her youngest's. “Anakin. Well? You were always the grownup. What do we do now?”

And Anakin stared back at her, the empty chasm in his soul looming close by his feet.

They looked at him, looked  _to_ him, and all he wanted was for someone else to step in and take control and save this, save  _him._

He'd been running for years all alone, everything within him shut down to survive the east winds.

The warmth of Obi-Wan's voice whispered through his thoughts, breathing life through his dying soul. A memory he hadn't prized at the time it was created.

_“Sometimes it is enough to simply sit with someone. Not to speak, Anakin. Just to_ be there  _with them in their pain. No— hush— she doesn't need to hear that now. Just exist with her.”_

He'd not been able to. The silence had gotten to him, he'd spilled out observations why the husband of the widow hadn't loved her, and so she shouldn't mourn for him or feel particularly sorry because she was free now—

Obi-Wan had dropped his head into his hand, and when he looked up again, he looked aged. He'd brought the woman tea, bodily shoved Anakin out of the room—

_Be with me now, Obi-Wan._

And his friend was. Always was.

_I know what to do._

 

* * *

 

Anakin stood before the glass of his sister's cage, and played on his violin.

_Hear my soul, if you cannot hear my words._

_If I cannot find the right words._

He was startled when she stood and turned to look at him. It was the first sign of life she'd revealed since being returned to the Citadel.

And then she lifted her own violin, and her fingers sang back to him, two songs that intertwined, unbound by the cage, by the prison, by words.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan looked tortured when he activated the holo marked _Miss You_ that came in the mail.

He and Anakin exchanged one look, a look in which both braced themselves and one another.

Neither were prepared when Satine smiled out at them.

“P.S. I know you two. And if I'm gone, I know what you could become, because I know who you really are. A junkie who solves crimes to get high, and the doctor who never came home from the war.”

Obi-Wan's lips parted in pain, and Anakin felt it too.  _I did that. I caused that pain._

But Obi-Wan sent him a look that said all was forgiven, just please,  _sit_ with me—

And Anakin did.

“Will you listen to me?” Satine asked. “Who you are doesn't really matter. It's all about the legend. The stories. The adventures. There is a last refuge for the desperate, the unloved, the persecuted. There is a final court of appeal for everyone. When life gets too strange, too impossible, too frightening, there is always one last hope. When all else fails, there are two men sitting, arguing in a scruffy flat, like they've always been there and they always will.”

Obi-Wan's hand reached out, found Anakin's, squeezed it tight.

“The best and wisest men I have ever known. My Coruscant Street boys, Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

A small breath escaped Obi-Wan, and Anakin looked down at their joined hands.

Just what was one supposed to do with that?

“And if one day you find solace and completeness in one another, know that it's not dishonoring my memory. I want you happy, my boys. I want Rey happy. Wherever I went, I'm smiling on you.”

_People don't go anywhere when they die. She can't see us,_ Anakin's brain offered up. His lips opened, and then he pressed them closed. He looked again at their hands, and instead, tried squeezing back.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened, snapped up to meet his.

“May you find your way, Skywalker and Kenobi. Ret'urcye mhi.” Satine blew a kiss, and then her image was gone.

Anakin found Obi-Wan curling into him, sobbing into his chest. Anakin wrapped his arms around him and held him tight, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

And one day, some time in the future, the kiss they shared was one that brought their eyes close, that tasted of healing, that whispered of the future.

_Satine knew I loved him. However did she know?_

Anakin wasn't sure as he held the other half of his heart close.

_We survived._

_That's all that matters._

And over Obi-Wan's shoulder, he caught Rey smiling up at them.

_This is home._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So... the Agent who turned her back on that life because she couldn't be that person anymore, whose past finally caught up to her and killed her? Married to Obi-Wan?
> 
> And has anyone else been reminded of Anakin again and again while watching Sherlock Holmes talk (or, rather, fail to talk?). 
> 
> And since I needed a baby name, I decided, what the hell, and chose to do the thing.
> 
> Me being me, there's going to be at least one more crossover posted, because while I needed to fix Sherlock's ending to suit myself, I also need to have a story where Obi-Wan drowns in that well. There might be a third where Anakin pulls the trigger back when he refuses to play Padmé's game, I like the idea, but if brain sparkles do not gather, it'll simply remain a fond possible alternate ending. Either way, those stories will be tiny compared to this one, just the one scene instead of the whole drawn-out torture sequence.


End file.
